Stardust
by KohakuWolf
Summary: He could be perfection, if not for the stardust in his eyes. Slade grapples with his thoughts about Robin, who all at once indulges him, enrages him, and inspires him. Written from Slade's point of view.


Stardust

_He could be perfection, if not for the stardust in his eyes. Slade grapples with his thoughts about Robin, who all at once indulges him, enrages him, and inspires him. Written from Slade's point of view._

I was amused when I first learned of the Teen Titans. I read about them in detail, scoffing at each disillusioned member and imagining all of the ways I could so easily annihilate them. However, there was one among them that sparked my interest apart from the rest. Betwixt articles of the polymorphous green boy and the fiery alien girl, I was introduced to him for the first time. He went by the name of Robin.

He was a debutant in the field of solo crime-fighting, and had appeared on his own only to be immediately swept into another team. He was the leader of this delightful band of misfits, confident to a fault and tragically noble. Possessing no super-powers, he had nothing to rely on in battle but his physical and mental training. This in particular intrigued me as I began to study his picture.

At first glance he was an unimpressive youth, slender in build, with jet oil hair and a grave expression. He was uncomfortably young and yet already brooding like the weight of the world sat upon his brightly caped shoulders. Even then, I knew that he would become my own personal problem-child.

There was something about this boy that impressed me, and even awoke a sense of favor within me. My fondness for the masked harbinger of justice only increased as I began to test and toy with him, using the weak-minded and all of the technology at my disposal.

Robin tried so very hard to be threatening when at last we encountered one another. It was precious, really. He went so far as to deceive his friends to get to me. It was rash, it was juvenile, and it only served to increase my predilection.

The boy was a rare find. I long intended to use him for my purposes... but there was a side of me that desired something else entirely.

I wanted to take him away from the world.

There were too many things that could harm him, like poison and bullets and me- especially me.

There were countless monsters he would face here, monsters with dripping eyes and fire-tonged limbs that would beat him until his mouth gushed with rust-flavored blood. The very idea vexed me. Such monstrosities would not be fit for his eyes, the blood would not be fit for his stomach, and I could not stomach the thought of it.

Any pain dealt from my hand would have meaning, but imagining my prized boy in agony from such worthless creatures provoked my wrath. What good is a soiled weapon, or a plundered gold-mine?

Despite this, I still craved Robin's assistance and allegiance far more than his safety. Why I cared so greatly for his well-being to begin with, I may never understand. Perhaps I am simply too concerned with protecting my investments.

I still delight in seeing him grow and improve as time goes by. I beam at his accomplishments from afar. My pride in him makes me ever more angered by his resistance. I've offered him everything- my power, my experience, my knowledge- all for him, only for him. I laid them out before his tender feet, rare jewels on a priceless platter, beckoning him to take them at no cost other than fealty. And yet time and time again, he rejects my generosity in favor of his worthless friends.

He baffles me, sickens me, and more than anything, he frustrates me. He could be the most deadly apprentice ever imagined, a ruthless assassin and an ingenious thief. He could be perfection, if not for the stardust in his eyes.

I see it constantly whenever we trade blows. It shines through the hollow whites of his mask, beneath the layers of cotton and determination. It is comprised of hope and the naïve belief that justice exists in this reality, and that by defeating villains like me, there will be peace.

My dear, foolish Robin; how very like you to be blinded by these delusions.

I lament that it had not been me who found him as a child rather than his beloved false idol, Gotham's pet. I could have raised him and mentored him before the childish ideals of heroism gilded his sharp mind. I could have protected and exposed him, coddled and endangered him, fathered and corrupted him.

He was meant to be mine. That much has always been transparently clear to me. Our fighting styles flow together seamlessly, each complimenting the other, and his intelligence advances at a rapid pace towards the level of my own. Everything that makes him valuable is everything that has made me great.

He hates me, this is true; but he hates only that which reminds him of himself.

He sees himself reflected in the metallic glisten of my mask. We are both so driven, so relentless, so deadly. Robin understands this. He fears this. The boy is afraid of becoming like me. He does not see that we are already two sides of the same coin. He is of my kind, whether or not he chooses to ever accept it.

However, I am not concerned. One day, Robin will break. I know this. He is like a spring lamb, shorn and ready for slaughter, and yet still unwilling to stain his fleece in red. But one day he will bleat too hard. One day, soon now, he will kill- and once he does, he will shatter. When that happens, I'll be there at his side, picking my little boy up piece by piece.

I will reform him from the shards of his former splendor and rearrange him into a stained-glass killer. He will be fearless and obedient, and he will be mine- shining ever brighter with me at his back to light his way, shape his mind, and mold his body.

He will be perfect, because I will snuff the stardust from his eyes.


End file.
